The Stranger's Children: The Return
by maesteroftales
Summary: Westeros is in turmoil with Others beating against the Wall, political intrigue overwhelming the capital, a monster stalking the Riverlands, and rumors of coming dragons. But this all matters little to Gendry Waters, until he is pulled into it.
1. Prologue

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Gendry Waters is three when his mother dies. And with her goes the hair as yellow as corn and the songs. His short black hair is disheveled and his eyes are brimmed with tears. The the barman takes him to the redstoned room where the kindly bald man is. There is soft talking but he pays no mind to it as tears flow from his eyes. They take him to the Motts and so his apprenticeship begins.

Gendry Waters is thirteen with longer hair when he gets an odd visit. The Hand visits with a sour-faced man. Gendry's meek eyes meet the other man's cold sapphires and for a second there is a comradery at having the same eyes before the man scowls and looks away. The Hand asks him questions about his mother and leaves. Gendry finds it odd and shrugs before returning to his work. He has no place among those of higher blood than he.

Gendry Waters is fourteen when his world turns upside down. The new Hand comes to visit him as well and asks him about the previous visit. It is after this that Tobho sends him off to join the Nights Watch. Gendry is sad but feels no shame at taking the black. It's often expected of is on the road that he meets Arry, a decent lad with a snarky demeanor. It is then that he learns that the lad is a lady. But she still insists on being his friend. He cannot say no. She won't let him.

Gendry Waters is fifteen with long hair over his neck and a soft beard when he is knighted. So what if he is with a bunch of criminals, they still give him a family. But when Arya goes missing, family loses it's taste. Especially when they start following the orders of a corpse.

Gendry Waters is sixteen with cut hair and a clean shaven face when he abandons the Brotherhood. He is tired of seeing the blood of Lady Stonehearts hatred flow from his hammer. So in the middle of the knight he runs. He comes across an inn run by two sisters. The eldest is pretty and she blushes him when he offers his service as a blacksmith and warrior to them. Gendry finds his home.

Gendry Waters is eighteen when he beds Jeyne Heddle. They are both nervous and scared but do it anyway. The need any comfort they can find at this hectic time. Jeyne is soon with child and becomes Jeyne Waters. But it doesn't last long. The birth leaves her weak and she dies a day after. The child is a boy named Arry and he shares his father's hair. But his eyes are a milky white. He is blind.

Gendry Waters is twenty-three and Westeros is still falling apart. Rumor spreads that the Night's Watch is in danger from the Others. Stannis Baratheon and Roose Bolton are at each others throats over Winterfell. The Tyrells are slowly swallowing the Lannisters. And tales of dragons at Braavos circulate. But Gendry doesn't care. What do the battles of highborns have to do with bastards? Besides, he has a child to raise and an inn to run. He has no time for any of it. But he knows that it will probably find a way to bring him in.


	2. The Innkeep I

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"These are bad times, no doubt in my mind," an old farmer said over his pint of ale.

It was late in the evening at the Inn at the Crossroads. Most of the travelers and patrons were in their beds for the night along with some of the Inn's attendants. All that was left was a small huddled group and a man wiping tables.

"Can't be as bad as when the War was still on. After all, most folk were scared to be on this here road. Winter may be on its way but we still have time," remarked another man, a surly looking bloke with a merchants purse on him.

The farmer shook his head, "Ain't the roads that frighten me. It's what lies off em that scares me half to death. Robbers lying in the bushes, wolves getting braver, and... ghosts..."

There was a hushed silence among the fellows before one of them, a young hunter with hair like mahogany, burst out laughing. "Ghosts!? You've been having one too many grandfather. The dead stay dead, simple as that."

A scowl formed its way across the old man's face causing hidden wrinkles all over to reveal themselves. His eyes narrowed while his voice held a strength to it, "Aye! Ghosts! Why do you think so few people go into the Riverlands nowadays? Why do think those River Lords keep themselves locked up tight in their keeps? It's all because of the Veiled Lady."

"The Veiled Lady?" a traveler from Saltpans questioned.

"Aye," the codger's voice croaked, now adopting a slow and menacing tone, like that of a judge giving a sentence. "A phantom if ever there was one. A horrid woman wrapped in blood-stained gowns. Her face is rotting and her neck is slit and they say she only speaks in hoarse whispers. Her hair is as pale as bones and just as brittle. They say she was behind all those Frey deaths years ago. But now it seems she preys on whoever she wishes. Many a good traveler have vanished from the roads only to be found hanging from a tree later. And that's how she kills em. Strings em up by the neck. No one truly knows how many people she's got at. Not everyone's body is found..."

The old man's voice puttered out into a low whisper before an eerie silence filled the room. The surly merchant looked around the common room as shadows from the flickering fireplace danced a horrific dance across the walls. The silence was broken by a light chuckle from the hunter.

"You all can't be serious! Veiled Lady? Ghosts? I can tell you right now, it ain't real. It's probably just some story spread around so that fewer people will use the roads that aren't properly watched yet. And besides, how many cups have you had now old man? Twelve? Hahaha, it must be. That's how many it takes me to see ghosts."

The others started to chuckle along with the young man, obviously feeling rather foolish of themselves for believing the fool of a farmer. The old man seemed run down at the laughter and merely stared into his pint with a morose expression.

"Fancy yourselves masters of what's real and what's not?" a voice came from behind the hunter that made him jump.

They all turned to see the innkeeper looking at them, a serious look in his sapphire eyes, his strong arms crossed in disapproval.

The hunter was the first to regain his composure by speaking up, "Y-Yes, I do, when it comes to things that don't exist. Come now, you can't possibly believe in this 'Veiled Lady' nonsense?"

The man's eyes narrowed as he leaned in to look the hunter in the eyes, "I do. And you'd best believe it too if you know what's good for you."

The two locked eyes for what seemed like ages until the hunter's eyes found the floor a bit more interesting. Mumbling a farewell to the others he made for the stairs. With that, the conversation seemed to have ended as the others made their ways to their rooms. Within minutes the common room was empty but for the innkeeper.

Gendry gave a sigh as he began to blow out candle after candle until the only light to be seen came from the flickering brand in his hand. After making sure all the doors were locked and the windows bolted, he made his way to the back room.

The room was sparse but for a few upturned crates, a few shelves, a small table with two chairs, and a large bed. Gendry set his candle on the table and walked over to the bed, where a small form had wrapped itself in a small cocoon of blankets. The big man sat down on the bedside and pulled back the covers to reveal a child's face.

The boy was small and frail, with his breathing soft with a hitch every now and again. His skin was pale and contrasted strongly with the head of twilight hair. Gendry's heavy hands soon found the child's back and started rubbing soothing circles into the skin. The child gave a small groan and rolled over before his eyes opened.

The two orbs appeared white and cloudy, without an way of telling which way they truly looked. But if one were to look real close they could catch a faint ring of blue beneath the white, like the sky hidden behind heavy clouds.

A hand came out to feel Gendry's face to which he promptly chuckled, a deep sound that formed in his chest as the child whispered, "Father? Is something wrong?"

"No," Gendry replied, "Just wished to see if you were sleeping well..."

"I-I'm fine," came the weak response.

Gendry's face broke slightly into a sympathetic smile. He loved his boy, his small broken child, and he would die for him if need be. Jeyne had given her life for the boy, so it would only be fair for the bastard to do the same.

After a moment of silence, Gendry tucks the boy back in and kisses the child on the head before going to his own rustic bed. The old boards creak as he settles. He blows out the candle and soon the only light is that of the full moon through the small window.

As Gendry drifts off, the low howl of a wolf echoes across the hills.


	3. The Hunter I

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The moon had risen high over the Sheepshead Hills which made spotting his prey easier. Not that the men who camped atop the hill were trying to hide, else they would have doused their bright burning fire and stopped their coarse laughter. Stupid men. Stupid tasty men.

Silent as a ghost, he slunk down the crest of a nearby hill and into a small thicket of bushes. So careful was he that the rustle of leaves amonst the brambles seemed more as if it were just a stir of wind. And still the men did not notice.

"All bullshit it is!" cried one of them, some swarthy looking fucker with a boil on his cheek, "Why do we 'ave to freeze our balls off out in this fuckin' cold while Corwyn gets to stay nice and warm in the Dreadfort?"

"It's 'cause he's a knight and yerr lucky yerr mum didn't throw ya out with the afterbirth," laughed another, a sandy haired bloke.

"Fuck you Vorrd, you sheep-fucker! Yerr mum probably screamed when she saw yerr face!" the Boil shot back, his face in an even more horrid sneer.

Vorrd laughed, a crackly sound, "Aye, but I bet she didn't scream as much as yerr mother when I fucked 'er!"

Boil gave a roar (that sounded far to high pitched to be called that) and punched the one called Vorrd in the face. The hunter smiled, fighting quarry was easier to kill. The two began the scuffle only to be stopped when two large hands pulled them apart.

"Oye, you shut yerr yap!" grunted the biggest of the three, "We're here to keep an eye on the surround, not squabble like wee bitches over a bone! Now shut up, or I'll shove me knife so far up yerr asses you'll be choking on the blade!"

The two were quickly put in their place and silently watched the crackling fire. Fuck. He usually found it easier to move when there was talking, but he could adapt. If he could not sneak up on them, perhaps he could at least distract them.

Hiding his hatchet and axe in his furs, he schooled his face to look cold and hungry. Once he finished, he left the bushes and headed up the small hillock towards the trio.

"E-Excuse me, sers..." he called out brokenly, placing a well practiced stutter in.

All three men stood up quickly and the smaller two drew their swords. However, when they saw him, their faces turned from fear to annoyance.

Boil was the first to speak, "Oye, we ain't got nufin furr you 'ear so fuck off," while the one called Vorrd narrowed his eyes, "'o are you?"

He cleared his voice to add effect, "I-I'm just a sh-shepherd and was w-wondering if you have any f-food you could spare."

The big one growled, "No, nothing for you. So piss off, or you'll feel my blade," he tapped his large bastard sword menacingly.

Some might of found this scary, he only found it amusing. He saw movement down the other side of the hill. Soon. Soon.

"P-Please... I-I'm starving. A-And c-cold..." he slowly moved his hands into his furs, his left gripping the hatchet tightly.

"Did you hear 'im you little shit? Fuck o-" Boils retort ended as the stone hatchet was soon buried in his skull. The big one and the one called Vorrd got to their feet and drew their weapons. In moments, the hunter's double headed stone axe was out and met with the shortsword of the one they called Vorrd.

The big one was about to bear his massive sword down on him when with a growl and a snarl, a black shadow leapt out of nowhere and tumbled atop the giant. The sounds of tearing and screaming issued from the pile.

This distraction was what he needed, and while the one called Vorrd stared in fear at the fate that befell his companions, the hunter took the advantage and offed the man's hands. Screaming, the man called Vorrd toppled to the ground, blood draining from his stubby ends.

Rickon smiled.

The two and ten year old boy's blue eyes moved to where Shaggydog was tearing at the big man's throat, eager to get to the softer meat. His companion loved that stuff the best, so full of blood and rich juices. Rickon however, preferred skin on his, especially if it was crackled.

As the one called Vorrd whimpered and sobbed, Rickon moved over to Boil and hacked off a leg. And soon that leg was slowly turning over the fire, it's hair singed off and the skin now sizzling. The one called Vorrd was now unconscious and would soon be dead. All in all, Rickon felt the hunt had gone well. He and Shaggy would be eating their fill tonight before returning to Winterfell in the morning.

It had been weeks since his last hunt and he was starving for some of that sweetest of meats. Oh sure the lamb and cow they fed him at Winterfell was fine, but something about eating those who you hate just made Rickon shiver with anticipation. No longer able to contain himself any longer, he pulled the leg off the fire and dug into the thigh, relishing the burst of juices in his mouth. Shaggy was almost done devouring the big one and there was still the one called Vorrd. Rickon decided he would be able to salt some and take it home, to hide in his room, in case he had a midnight hunger again. He supposed setting the body of the one called Vorrd aflame would be safest, after all, wouldn't want him coming back would he?

"Come along Shaggy," Rickon roused his mount and hopped atop the black wolf, "Let's go home. Ser Davos is probably going to be furious with me going out alone again. But," he patted the sack of flesh across his back, "It has all been worth it."

With a howl and a bound, the two raced off into the night, as the cold winds blew down from the North.


End file.
